


I End Up Getting Too Involved

by xxELF21xx



Series: The Countdown [2]
Category: Helix Waltz (Video Game)
Genre: Falling In Love, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Songfic, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: In which Hugh falls in love with the man his parents want him to wed.





	I End Up Getting Too Involved

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [LOVE ADDICTION](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyAl93KqHz8) by THRIVE!

_A glass love that created frigidity,_

 

Hugh learns that something’s not right with him when he stares at the mirror.

Someone he doesn’t know stares right back at him, high cheekbones and soft skin, pale lips and weathered eyes. There is a layer of powder on the bridge of his nose, covering up spots and little freckles, and some kohl-like substance weighing down his eyelids.

Hugh doesn’t like this.

He’s ten now, old enough to understand his position, but young enough to still act as though he hadn’t a care in the world. His father’s mentioning talks about potential betrothments to the noble children of lands faraway, and his mother is talking about how little time Hugh spends in airy skirts.

He pretends that whoever they’re talking about doesn’t exist.

When the maids are done drawing on his face, he runs towards the nearest bathroom and rinses the awful things right off, leaving his skin bare. A ghost of a boy stares back at him, shameful tears sliding hotly down his cheeks.

His shirt, painstakingly sewn by the best tailors that Finsel can provide, is stained with pinks and creams.

He leaves, sneaking out of the house to train with his family’s men. His mother says nothing when she sees his face scrubbed clean, offering only a gentle smile as she offers him a wooden sword. ‘Have a good day at practice,’ she wishes, but Hugh knows that she'd have preferred him at home, in the shade, where his skin wouldn’t blister and redden.

‘Of course,’ he replies steadfastly, ignoring the underlying disappointment.

When the sun sets, and the knights no longer wished to play with him, Hugh returns home through the servants’ entrance, skittering past their butler and head maid. He rounds the corner, almost certain that he’s safe from threats, when the looming figure of his father blacks out his world.

Hugh’s heart stutters to a pause.

How was training? His father asks, question poised so politely curious that Hugh almost believed he was actually interested. He responds in kind, creating a tune that his father would least likely frown on, telling him of how wonderful of a day it was. How little he had played. He knows that all this is just an act, to make him feel comfortable enough so that he’ll slip up and tell his father about how good of a swordsman he’s become.

Balfey comes wandering in, casting him a worried gaze.

‘It’s nothing, Balfey,’ he shoos his brother away, not wanting to cause any more trouble. His brother balks, sulkily informing them that he hadn’t said anything.

‘I don’t understand why you keep harping on him, Father,’ Balfey rolls his eyes, tapping his feet impatiently. ‘If Hugh wants to play with swords, then let him play with swords. He’s only ten.’

Hugh’s breath catches in his throat, emotion he’s held in for so long suddenly escaping him. Numbed by Balfey’s words, he tunes everything else out. He hadn’t expected someone to side with him.

 

_If you break it, it’ll become two, right?_

 

Nobody ever mentions him ditching make-up and dancing with men anymore, instead mocking him for wearing clothes too big for his shoulders and heels too high for his age.

It’s okay, he supposes, making up excuses about why his younger sister isn’t in town. ‘She’s moved to Mandaria,’ he lies easily, ‘she always wanted to start a business there.’ When questioned about how young of an entrepreneur is she is, Balfey would rescue him with some business jargon he doesn’t really understand.

The Olineaux family only has two children.

The pressure sets in when rumours about his validity start spreading amongst his troops, generals and commanders giving him a second look when he passes them. Vicky is quick to notice, nudging him and warning him to keep his men in line. He waves it off, annoyed at the thought of having to exert his status once more.

He can’t really run from the problem for long, though.

As more and more people start to spread the message, Hugh finds it difficult to keep everything under wraps. Some days, he’s in such terrible pain he can’t even _see_ straight, much less think about witty comebacks and shout orders loud enough. Other days, his lungs feel crushed, rough material digging into his skin and causing a blemish in his sword work. Most days, however, he just finds it tough to be himself.

 

_Everyone’s the same. It’s always the same._

 

He gains a certain complex, wanting to be strong and stand proud.

It’s worrying, how quick he is to resort to cruel words and sneers. He makes fun of Balfey, who was always a bit of a kind fool, and Gonzalo, who chased after trends as if he were the one battling in contests. They hardly ever mind, though, too absorbed in being who they are to care about the changes happening within Hugh.

He grows jealous of people who are happy.

When Magda Ellenstein arrives, the whole of Finsel is thrown into an uproar.

She’s a certain type of character, peculiar and smart, eyes gentle yet sharp. Her keen ears hear all, yet her lips reveal nothing. Hugh always thought she was a little too perfect, attending every ball with the grace he was brought up to have, smiling and taking everything in stride. He never once heard her complain, never thought that she _could._

She was strong, undoubtedly so.

But even then, there was always going to be gossip. Rumours spread about her, too, regarding her mystical existence when Eliza Ellenstein was never wed. He sees her stumble, several times, fatigue hanging over her as she chews on her lips with apprehension. She’s a flawed being, full of mysteries and blunders; but she gets up, each and every time, stronger than she previously was.

He is both motivated and tired.

 

_Being in pieces._

 

Hugh notices the envoy approaching, but disregards him in favour of discussing certain…. “bad” habits with Magda.

The swishing of a cape announces his arrival, and Hugh sends him an irritated glare as a reply. Magda, however, smiles in amusement and pats his shoulder fondly. ‘Oh, Hugh, there’s no need to be so hostile,’ she almost teases him, ‘we can always continue this discussion another time.’

He has an immense desire to smash the envoy into pieces.

Instead, he sighs, shrugging, ‘right as always, My Lady.’ He glances towards the Lionheart envoy, hoping to get a glimpse of his intent, but is instead greeted with a blank expression. How rude. ‘If that’s alright with your mother, I shall drop by your estate after the ball. Do allow me the honour of escorting you home?’ He slips in a cheeky grin, eyes twinkling when Magda raises an eyebrow.

‘Hugh,’ she sends him a warning, rolling her eyes.

He shrugs once more, disappearing into the sea of dancers just before Magda could pull his collar. Laughing, he dashes to the other end of the room, hiding in the shadows. Obviously, he wasn’t in quite the mood to talk to anyone else. Balfey had locked himself in his room, working away on one of his newest inventions, Vicky had no interest in tonight’s ball, and his parents were away on a short trip.

He only came to represent his family.

Curious, he observes the envoy and Magda. They seem to be chatting amicably, though the envoy was a lot stiffer than he remembered. How odd. She produces something, a pendant of some sort, and the envoy’s face turns a flushed pink, eyes darting everywhere. Magda laughs, tucking the pendant away, angling her body to hide as much of the man as she could.

The envoy bows down, kissing the palm of her hand gently.

He’s awestruck at the sight. A knight making a pledge in such a crowded place was almost unheard of! What… jealously sours his mind, _what is their relationship?_ He has no romantic feelings for the lady, but he’s highly suspicious of what the envoy had just done. Was he making use of her?

Hugh can’t form a conclusion, and it upsets him even more.

 

_I turn around and say: BYE BYE_

 

He doesn’t see Magda at the next few balls.

Anxiety eats away at him, and he wonders if she’s disgusted with him. But… there’s no way, right? She had a look of understanding on her face when he revealed his deepest fears, and promised to never tell anyone, not even the pesky Sakan.

Maybe he shouldn’t have put her in such a difficult spot.

Hugh knows how intertwined Magda’s life is with Juven Sakan, judging by her flustered behaviour and how comfortable she is with the Viscount. Maybe telling her was more trouble than it was worth. Doubt floods him, and the overhanging clouds crackle with lightning.

The envoy approaches him, but he does not acknowledge it.

‘Lord Hugh,’ his voice is sharp, exactly how an attentive knight should sound. I am-- ‘

Hugh sighs, not really keen on prolonging the talk, ‘Barbalius of the Red Top Knights, good evening.’

Barbalius blinks at him, taken aback, but composes himself quick enough. ‘Good evening, my Lord. I don’t mean to take much of your time, but have you seen Lady Ellenstein?’ There’s a hint of worry in his tone, which aggravates Hugh in all the wrong ways.

‘No, she hasn’t been attending many balls as of late. Maybe, if you went to look for that pink panther, you might know how she is.’

‘Are you not worried?’ Hugh ignores the anger in Barbalius’ voice, sighing once more. Barbalius grows agitated, brows pinched together and scowl set on his face.

‘I am, I just happen to hide it better than you. There’s no use causing a panic and embarrassing yourself in such situations. Using that restless energy to look for her is _worlds_ better than panicking.’

Soundly embarrassed, Barbalius’ glare slips to the polished wooden floors.

Hugh feels his father’s gaze pinned to the back of his head, which is perhaps what stirs him to ask: ‘perhaps you would feel calmer after a dance?’ Barbalius' head snaps up, confused and alarmed. Hugh plasters on a mischievous grin, ‘surely, two knights of different factions dancing would definitely cover up any talk of our friend going missing, right?’

Barbalius huffs, holding a hand out, ‘I think, yes.’

 

_You always noticed it too late._

 

There comes a time when everything that he’s worked so hard for crumbles.

Magda returns, storming into the Olineaux Manor with such determination not even Vicky could stop her. ‘Hugh,’ she shouts, ‘I have news to tell you!’ But Hugh has never asked the lady for any intel.

He squawks, pulling her into his room and slamming the door so hard he’s sure his mother would have glared at.

‘Where,’ he hisses, pointing a threatening finger at her, ‘have you _been!’_ It’s no question, but a command. However furious he is at the girl’s disappearance, he’s still relieved and glad that she was not injured.

Magda tugs his wrist, fingers calloused, dragging him towards the changing screen, paper bags crinkling; ‘I’ve found ways to make things better for you!’

He’s not quite sure what that meant. ‘What?’ She ignores his outburst, dumping the contents in the bag onto the plush chairs. He sees clothing, shirts and tunics, with various other questionable items. All of them were of his skin tone.

‘Stop using bandages, Hugh,’ Magda pleads, cupping his hands in hers, desperate.

He almost stops breathing.

Gesturing to the items on the couch, she continues, ‘I had a friend make these for you, they work exactly the same, maybe even _better,_ and won’t cause you that much pain. Look, they’re even enchanted to be as breathable as possible!’

 _Oh,_ tears spring up in his eyes.

‘Oh, Magda,’ he sobs, shaking from the acceptance. ‘Thank you!’ He flings himself at her, burying his tear stained face in the folds of her top, allowing her fingers to run through his hair. She hums, a soft, foreign tune. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, Hugh.’

He doesn’t see the trademark stitchwork of the Lionheart Kingdom.

 

_At this point, my voice can’t even reach you._

 

Barbalius approaches him once more,

‘Uh,’ he starts, unsure if he owed the man a talk, ‘hi?’

The envoy inclines his head, cape unmoving. ‘Lord Hugh, I challenge you to a duel.’

What.

‘What?’

Barbalius clears his throat once more, irritation seeping into his gorgeous blue eyes. ‘A duel.’ He doesn’t give any more hints, words blankly meaning nothing to Hugh. There’s a sour look on his face, as if Hugh had done something awful to this man’s reputation.

‘Listen, I haven’t a damn _clue_ about why you’d want to duel me. Tell me, or so Goddess help me.’

He hadn’t meant to be such a child about the situation, but having the blond look _down_ at him was getting on his nerves. He’s ready to punch someone, preferably the clown in front of him.

The clown, who just so happens to have his face close to Hugh’s own.

Feeling his cheeks burn, he yelps, stumbling back. Balfey, who was behind him, stabilizes him before he can crash into the dessert island. He feels the gaze of the Olineaux settle beneath his skin, urging him to take the challenge and prove his worth.

Barbalius frowns, ‘was Lady Ellenstein wrong, then? She said that you were feeling better.’

Face still hot, he growls out, _‘fine.’_

Their duel ends with his sword slicing Barbalius’ cheeks, and his men’s hollering. It ends with Hugh smirking triumphantly, standing over a muddied and defeated Red Top Knight.

Elation soars through him, singing his blood on fire and sending him high on adrenaline.

Barbalius, though the loser, has a satisfied look on his face. His cape, once shimmering and clean, is ripped and lays smeared in the dirt. The sleek, black uniform is rumpled and its seams frayed, silver edges speckled with hints of dust. His boots have definitely seen better days, drenched in so much mud that Hugh could hardly recognise it.

What caught his eye, and most probably his awful heart, is Barbalius’ neat hair swept up by a calloused hand, adding onto the picture perfect definition of _amazing._

He nearly chokes, pulling away from the man on the ground, gasping to catch his breath. _No, no!_ He nearly screams, victory long forgotten, _he can’t. He can’t. He_ **_won’t._ **He sees the acknowledgement in his parents’ smile, lungs suddenly gone.

It’s too late.

He’s always been weak to those that stand their ground.

 

_Now I could stop your tears, and yet…._

 

His days blur together, painful and dreary.

The darkness clings under his eyes, painting his skin much paler.

Balfey notices it first. He doesn’t question it, he never will, quietly stepping up to take over Hugh’s roles. For the first time in a while, Balfey helps him draw a bath.

‘Your hair has grown longer,’ his brother frowns, a safe distance between them. Hugh doesn’t answer, lifeless eyes staring straight ahead. ‘Hugh, you haven’t been eating. All you do is train and disappear into your room.’ The hanging _are you alright_ is stuck between them, but Balfey will never say it aloud.

Not when Hugh’s like this.

‘Lady Ellenstein is asking for you,’ he continues talking, dropping his usual honorific, ‘you wouldn’t want to worry her.’ Balfey talks a lot more when it’s just the both of them, filling the vacancies with his pained voice.

Gingerly, he bathes Hugh, careful of the bruises by his ribcage and the rashes on his back.

‘I’m going to cut your hair, now.’ He announces, wrapping a towel around Hugh. He realises how thin he’s become, but doesn’t care. The sound of snipping fills his ears, and golden locks fall into his reflection, blurring the line between Hugh and someone else.

Would he be preferred as the other version?

Hugh doesn’t respond to anything for the next few days, not even fighting with his father over possible marriage partners.

He knows his mother and cousin are fretting, carting doctors and mages back and forth, going as far as getting the Cleric to check if there’s something wrong with him. But he’s known, since he was ten, that something inside of him is broken and not right.

The ball drops when Barbalius allows himself into his room.

Hugh doesn’t bother hiding the state of his room, a mess of clothes old and new, with Magda’s gifts scattered near the foot of his bed. Barbalius doesn’t seem to mind, either, marching to where Hugh can see him. A dress from when he was six slips onto the carpet, pooling at his guest’s boot.

‘You fell ill after our duel. Did I…’ Barbalius’ voice is thick with concern -- something Hugh doesn’t want. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Hugh wants to scream. He wants to throw a tantrum, wants to hurl every sword in his room at this insolent fool. He wants to cry, run to Vicky’s arms, let Gonzalo tease him about being a weak brat.

Instead, he doesn’t even bother looking at Barbalius.

 

_I WANNA LOVE_

 

Hugh fell in love with a man his parents would want him to wed.

 

_LOVE ADDICTION._

 

He doesn’t want to wear a wedding dress. He doesn’t want to look fondly at the man next to him. He doesn’t want to do anything.

 

_Even now, I NEED YOUR LOVE._

 

‘Your father proposed that we marry.’

 

_Now, simply, I WANNA YOUR LOVE._

 

Hugh doesn’t want that.

**Author's Note:**

> me: [writes literally anything]  
> the whole server: I'M GONNA FUCKING STEAL YOUR DAMN B O N E S
> 
> countdown: 3


End file.
